


A Slow Thaw

by Politzania



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence - the Winter Soldier is Peggy Carter, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Has Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4891048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2097654?view_full_work=true"> From Winter's Cold</a> by 27dragons, (but mostly ignores the Epilogue).  </p>
<p><b>The Story So Far: </b>Through a time travel mishap Iron Man is in the right place and the right time to rescue Bucky Barnes after his fall from the train in the Alps. Stark figures out how to send a message forward in time to JARVIS with his when/where coordinates & the info needed to bring him back.  Barnes asks to come along, and Stark  brings him, hoping to negate the whole Winter Soldier situation.  Unfortunately, the world apparently needs a Winter Soldier,  and in the new reality, it’s former SSR/SHIELD Agent Peggy Carter.   The events of  <i>Captain America:Winter Soldier</i> still take place (as best I can tell) and at some point after (not specified) the Avengers + Bucky manage to rescue/capture  Winter Soldier Peggy. </p>
<p>This picks up about three weeks after these events and focuses on Peggy's recovery and its ups and downs.   There is drama and angst; and a bit of fluff, and an oddly appropriate movie choice by Barton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [From Winter's Cold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2097654) by [27dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons). 



> FYI - source material is a slashfic - matching up Tony, Steve and Bucky, with an explicit chapter or two. The relationship remains PG rated here - physical closeness, verbal expressions of love... and some innuendos, just for fun.

It had been a difficult night. She awoke once again, this time to find herself in a fighter’s crouch with her back to the door. The left hand should have held a knife, her right was reaching to the small of her back for a pistol that was no longer there. She realized she was not wearing her tactical uniform, with its straps and harnesses, but soft pajamas instead. On the floor was a blanket, and a pillow torn to pieces; its companion on the bed across the room also shredded. She looked around the room, which otherwise seemed in order. She realized she wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, so she might as well do some reading. 

The files had been prepared after her arrival, to help orient her to her current situation. Neatly typed, they sat on the desk, paper and a pen nearby. She was to make notes regarding any thoughts or memories that came to mind each time she reviewed the material. As part of their visits, her handlers went through these notes with her regularly, as part of her therapy. They all believed she was doing very well, all things considered. On good days, she would read through her notes from previous days to try to integrate any new recovered memories. But this wasn’t shaping up to be a good day. She decided to cheat a bit, and use her index to the files to jog her memory. 

The first file, of course, was her own: Margaret “Peggy” Carter. She knew her name, even if she didn’t always remember it. The face, however, felt unfamiliar; the photos showed an attractive, self-possessed young woman, with an intent gaze. Someone who knew her value. Now, she saw gaunt features and grey smudges under exhausted, lost eyes. Hair, greasy and limp around her face. Someone with no idea where she belonged and precious little to go on. And there was the arm... the powerful, horrible arm. She briefly considered whether to record the nightmares as part of her review, but didn’t feel like reliving them even to that extent. She continued reading the files. 

The second item was designed to help with temporal and physical orientation. She jotted down the current date - September 3rd, 2014 - and realized that nearly three weeks had passed since her ... capture? Rescue? Something inbetween, she decided. She still struggled with the year - since when did it start with a twenty? She realized now (at least intellectually) that the cumulative time she’d spent frozen in the cryo tank accounted for over forty-five of the past fifty-some years, but it was difficult to accept that as part of her day to day existence. 

As for her location: “New York City, Manhattan, Stark Tower”. She’d have to take their word for it at the moment, she thought, as she looked around her current quarters. The room itself was anonymous, a hotel suite that could be in any city anywhere around the world... except for the lack of windows, and the secured door. Reasonable precautions, considering. At least it was a lot more comfortable than many of the places she’d stayed in during previous missions. 

The remainder of the files were for her associates, past and present. It was easier to start with the past and move forward. “Steve Rogers”. Most of the memories sparked by this file were easy to recall: a young man, slightly built, wearing an army uniform two sizes too big, holding a flag, quietly triumphant. Project Rebirth, when he became a tall, broad-shouldered man, his exterior finally matching his interior. Captain America battling the enemy across Europe, the Howling Commandos at his side. 

Some memories were much more difficult. How he’d lost his best friend and blamed himself. The final, awful, radio conversation when she couldn't talk him out of his sacrifice. She’d just recently recovered that memory, and almost wished she hadn’t. She had loved Steve, then, and thought he loved her as well. But there hadn’t been enough time. 

And Steve was here now as well, in this futuristic year, somehow rescued from the ice. Fairly recently at that, based on her vague recollections of their recent encounters. Erase and correct - recent battles. He had been one of her targets, and she was thankful that she had not succeeded in her mission. Her handlers had told her he was here in New York City now, and she could see him soon, if she wanted. She knew better than to try to relive the past, but she hoped to at least build a friendship with perhaps the only other person who could understand her feeling of having come unstuck from time. 

Another name from the past: “James “Bucky” Barnes”. She wasn’t sure if her few recollections of him were due to them simply not knowing each other well, or if there were still recovered memories lurking under the surface. She knew that Steve’s first military action revolved around rescuing his childhood friend, and they had been thick as thieves from that point forward. She remembered Barnes as somewhat of a charmer, handsome with a devil-may-care grin, but she’d only had eyes for Steve. She recalled how devastated he had been after losing Bucky in the Alps, mourning as if he’d lost the most important person in the world to him. 

The next name in her index: “Tony Stark”. Her first thought was of a mad scientist’s lab, with a dark, intense man at a control board. No, that was Howard. She reviewed her file: Tony was his son - the one who had created the robot flying suit - Iron Man. As for her notes: “A genius who builds dangerous toys.” - she wasn’t sure which one of them she’d been thinking of when she wrote that, as she still occasionally struggled with distinguishing between father and son. Though that confusion had apparently been the key to her rescue. 

Stark ... Tony, that is... had actually come to her room about a week and a half ago. She’d been having a good day and her handlers had recommended that he examine the arm to see if he could fix any of the damage she had incurred. He hadn’t come alone; two men had accompanied him. They seemed to be his friends as well as bodyguards. She had noticed he still had a bruise on his temple from their last encounter, but seemed to have fully recovered. He made some minor repairs, but said she would need to visit his workshop for a full scan of the arm. No one in the room felt she was ready for that, least of all her. She did observe that he was very different from his father; where Howard had been outgoing and charming, his son seemed cold, and withdrawn. 

She had tried to thank Stark for his help, not only for his assistance with the arm, but for bringing her here in the first place. Her recollection of that day was very muddled, but she remembers him reaching out to her - offering safety, offering help. It had been so long since she had a reason to to feel gratitude, that she couldn’t think of what to say. She returned to her review of the files. 

The remaining handful of names, all associates as well, were from her more recent history - Wilson, Romanov, Barton. She jotted down phrases as they came to her. “man with wings on helicarrier”, “troublesome Russian redhead - crossed paths with in DC - dangerous”, “smartass fighter - deadly archer”. Her handlers had indicated that she would have the chance to meet them soon as well, if she chose. The idea of being able to make choices like this still felt foreign; her world had been one of orders and missions for so long.

The last name on the list, oddly familiar somehow, was “JARVIS”. Her handlers had spoken his name, asking questions, or giving instructions, and he would reply over the speakers in the ceiling. She assumed at first he was simply a very dedicated comms jockey, and she’d asked if he ever slept. Turns out Jarvis wasn’t a person at all, but some sort of advanced artificial intelligence; similar to Zola, but not at all like him. She still preferred to think of Jarvis as a “him”, and hoped that the itch of familiarity with his name would resolve itself soon. 

“Jarvis? Are you there?” She wasn’t sure at first if he’d heard, as she’d spoken so softly. 

“Good morning, Miss Carter. I fear you had a less than restful night. Breakfast is currently being prepared in the common area, if you would care to join some of the other residents.” 

She responded without even thinking. “Thank you, Jarvis. ” Apparently politeness was something deep in her bones, not to be eradicated with a mindwipe. Wait - what had he said? “If you care to join some of the other residents”? Mulling over Jarvis’ invitation, she walked over to the door, and heard a click as the knob turned easily in her hand. 

She realized that she had never tried to leave the room by herself since that first day. She remembered the door resisting even the metal arm when she first awoke and tried to escape. It had been a terrible mistake, defecting from HYDRA, she had thought. They would come after their valuable, dangerous asset, and she couldn’t put these well-meaning strangers at risk. She’d battered herself almost bloody trying to get out; there were still a few dents in the arm from that day, despite Stark’s previous efforts. 

Like a wounded animal, she had refused human contact. If another kill mission were triggered, she was afraid she would not be strong enough to deny it. But if it came to that, she would take her own life before getting more blood on her hands. As if she were a bomb to be defused, a robot was sent in, with necessary supplies. It seemed to have a mind of its own - tapping on her metal arm with a claw, then turning its camera to her face as if it were asking a question. It became a frequent visitor, and she found herself speaking to it, eventually teaching it the “shave and a haircut” knock, so she would know when it was at the door. She realized she hadn’t seen her mechanical friend for quite some time, and that made her a bit sad. 

Her rescuers had been persistent, and kept talking to her (she was quite aware that she was under 24-hour eyes and ears surveillance), reiterating how she was safe now, no longer an asset, not a weapon to be used and put away. They would help her recover her memories and put her life back together. Multiple voices at first (she later realized Steve must have been one of them, but didn’t recognize him at the time), but eventually just two. They identified themselves as Agent May and Agent Hill. 

Eventually, her new handlers appeared in person. She was intrigued by these women; all her HYDRA and Russian handlers had been men. Over time, their uneasy truce developed into a working relationship, with one or the other of them visiting her nearly every day. In addition, she had phone sessions with a Dr. Garner. She found it useful at times to speak to someone without having to look them in the eyes. But back to the current situation - the invitation to breakfast. 

“Jarvis... where is the common area?” 

“You may take the elevator across from your room to level 25, Miss Carter.” 

“Are Agents May and Hill okay with this?” They had taken her on a short escorted trip earlier in the week; to the greenhouse and garden on the roof, as she’d said she missed the sunlight and fresh air. But they had come with her, and they encountered no one else during their excursion. 

“You have been granted limited privileges in the Tower based on your recent behavior, as you have shown no aggression towards others since the first day of your arrival, and your recent outing went well. Additional social interaction has been recommended by Dr. Garner; however, you do not need to leave your room at this time.” 

She was being offered a choice. Choices felt problematic. Making a wrong choice resulted in punishment; that had been proven to her many times over the decades. On bad days, she found herself craving a mission again. To be under orders. Orders were easy, even the ones that resulted in bloodshed. Choices were difficult. 

“I agree, Miss Carter. But choices are part of what makes one human.” She realized she must have spoken her thoughts aloud, as Jarvis had replied. “You may wish to make yourself presentable before going to breakfast.” he continued. He was only making a suggestion, but it was sufficient to motivate her. 

She couldn’t cope with a shower today. Water pelting down on her naked body was likely to retrigger the nightmares. So she did the best she could with a washcloth and the sink. She chose clean clothes - a loose long-sleeved top and knit pants. Comfort trumped respectability for her today. She found slippers in the closet, but no gloves. She felt naked without a glove to hide her metal hand. 

The short hallway was empty, and the elevator was right where JARVIS had said it would be. She fought off panic as it ascended to level 25 - she knew the walls weren’t actually closing in on her, but their shiny surfaces reminded her too much of the cryo tank. The blast of air conditioning didn’t help. She felt a rush of relief as the doors opened - only to be overwhelmed once again. 

So much glass, chrome, bright glowing surfaces. Two whole walls of the room (which seemed to take up the entire floor of the building) were nothing but windows, looking out over the city. She thought they were only on the 25th floor - this looked more like the 125th. She automatically scanned for an escape route (yes, there in the northeast and southwest corners were exits, conveniently marked, even), even though she could scarcely take in what she was seeing. She was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the people who had rescued her would let her stay in the same building where they resided, instead of a hospital or mental facility. Before she could retreat back to the elevator and ask Jarvis to take her back to her room, she heard a voice coming from her right. 

“Good morning! Nice to see you out and about.” She heard a tenseness around the edges of the greeting. She turned to see Steve Rogers walking towards her. What was he doing here? She was not prepared to see him, not so soon. She mentally cursed Jarvis for not providing a warning. She still was unsure how much of her programming lurked under the surface. How could they be sure she wouldn’t regress - that the sight of Captain America wouldn’t trigger the Winter Soldier? 

“Peggy... it’s me - Steve. JARVIS said you might be joining us for breakfast?” He spoke carefully, as if he was afraid of spooking her. But he didn’t seemed concerned for his own safety at all. She remembered that lack of self-preservation well, and how frustrating it was. Several silent moments passed, then she realized he was waiting for a reply. Not sure what to say, she risked a nod. He smiled and turned, holding his left elbow out towards her. An old memory surfaced, and she slid her right hand around his elbow to rest her hand on his forearm. This simple human touch was comforting in a way she couldn’t explain. 

Steve escorted her to a large, airy eat-in kitchen - a stocky, sandy-haired man with his back to them was working busily at the stove, and she saw enormous amounts of food already out on the long counter. “I’m working on pancakes, eggs and bacon over here.” he spoke over his shoulder, “and there’s donuts, fruit, cereal and bagels already out. Milk, juice and yogurt in the fridge. Help yourselves.” She paused in consternation. Even though she knew that there was nothing intrinsically dangerous about selecting the wrong breakfast food, she was still paralyzed by options. 

“Jarvis?” She questioned, tentatively, hoping that he would somehow understand that she needed some sort of guidance. 

“Agent Barton’s pancakes are always in high demand. I believe today’s are apple-cinnamon; one of his special recipes.” He had understood her, and responded with assistance in making a choice. 

“The secret ingredient is love - and sometimes rum”. Barton held out a plate full of pancakes. Steve took the plate, guided her to a seat with a place setting, and offered her the stack. She took two off the top and handed it back. Maybe this wouldn’t be too difficult after all. 

“Good lord, does that ambrosial scent mean that Barton’s making pancakes again? I knew we kept him around for some reason. JARVIS, can we chain Clint to the stove?” A wiry, dark-haired man swept into the room, grabbed a pancake off Steve’s plate, rolled it up and took a big bite of it before he realized Steve was not alone at the table. She looked up into the stunned face of Howard Stark. No - not Howard, but Tony. She was going to have to remember that. 

“Steve? Why is she out here by herself? Why is she eating pancakes in my kitchen? At my table?” Tony had stepped behind Steve, hands on both shoulders, as if he were trying to use the larger man as a shield. There was distrust, distaste, and more than a touch of fear in his dark brown eyes. Steve reached up and placed his hand over the other man’s to reassure, comfort him. She saw how their fingers lace together, as if out of habit. 

“Tony, if you’d paid attention to yesterday’s briefing, you would have known that Peggy has been responding well enough to counseling that she has been granted access to the common area. That includes this kitchen and this table.” Steve’s voice was firm, brooking no argument. “Besides, Barton and I are here, she’s not by herself.”

“JARVIS?” Tony questioned. 

“Captain Rogers is correct, sir. Doctor Garner believes Miss Carter would benefit from social interaction with the team. Unlike Sir, most people prefer the company of others.” 

She had remained motionless throughout this interaction - watching everything; gathering intel. Barton had turned towards them during Stark's outburst; subtly gripping the spatula a little more securely. However, his expression was simply that of mild interest. So he was more than a smartass fighter, she thought. 

And then there was Stark. He had walked in as if he owned the place (which he actually did, she recalled), and he obviously didn’t want her here. “Here” being not just the kitchen, not just the building but quite probably the entire city of New York. She watched his reaction to Steve and Jarvis - initial shock morphing to anger and disappointment. 

“Fine,” replied Stark, biting off the monosyllable. “I see how it is. I disappear for a few weeks and the peasants start revolting. Next thing I know, Dum-E, Butterfingers and U will be demanding minimum wage.” He grabbed another pancake off Steve’s plate and stalked out of the room. 

Barton watched him go, saying “He’s really off his game - he didn’t even get coffee. That man cannot function without massive doses of caffeine.” He poured a mug, and went to follow Stark. Steve sprang up from the table to turn off the burners and move the pans off the heat before everything burned to a crisp. Amid the moment of chaos, she remained perfectly still as a burst of memory engulfed her. 

She knew why Stark hated her. She had killed his parents and tried to kill him as well.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sorry about Tony. Nightmares had him hyperventilating and it took a good hour to settle him back down again.” Steve spoke apologetically, sitting back down at the table. She noted an odd look briefly cross Steve’s face, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. 

She stood, the pancakes turning to ash in her mouth. 

“I have to go,” she spoke dully. “This was a mistake.” Not just coming to breakfast, but the act of defecting, of accepting the offer of rescue. Her mere presence was disrupting everything here, causing distress and pain. Better she spend the rest of her days alone, on the run. 

Turning to walk back to the elevator, she saw Steve reach toward her out of the corner of her eye. Almost without thinking, her metal arm lashed out to push his hand away. She heard the crack of his hand hitting the wall and a muffled grunt of pain. Damn it, Steve. Stark could see how dangerous she was, why didn’t he? Why didn’t they all?

As she entered the elevator, she realized she didn’t know what floor her room was on. “Jarvis, please take me back. Lock me into my room and throw away the key.” 

“I will direct the elevator to your floor, Miss Carter. I do not have the authority to place you under house arrest.” 

“Then please contact whoever does. And make sure Captain Rogers gets medical attention.”  
She closed her door, and considered piling all the furniture in front of it. If she couldn’t lock herself in, she could damn well make it at least difficult for her to leave. But she expected her handlers would arrive soon. They knew how to deal with her, even if Steve didn’t.

“Jarvis - what is the ETA for Agents Hill and/or May?” 

“They have been alerted, Miss Carter - however, May is out of town and Hill will not arrive for approximately another hour.” Damn. 

“Then in the meanwhile, tell me everything you know about the Winter Soldier.” She sat on the floor, pad of paper and pen in hand, taking notes as he talked. Knowledge is power, and she was feeling particularly powerless at the moment. The more she knew about who she was and what she had done, the better she could cope once she was on her own again. 

But it was not one of her handlers who showed up at her door. It was Romanov. “Hey. Thought you could use a haircut.” The redhead strode into the room with a large bag under her arm. 

“Pardon me?” She didn’t even know where to start with this non-sequitur. Apparently Romanov was not only troublesome, but fearless.

“Self-care tends to be the first casualty of any long-term assignment. Thought I’d offer my services as a personal stylist.” 

She still didn’t understand what was happening, but, she had a feeling arguing with Romanov would be useless. “Very well. What do you want to do to me first?” 

She found herself sitting on a chair in front of the kitchenette sink, head tilted back with a folded towel under her neck, warm water running through her hair. Romanov’s touch was somehow both impersonal and comforting. Surprisingly, she felt no sense of a threat from the other woman, despite being in the perfect position to have her throat slit. It was a relief to be this vulnerable, for once. And to have one’s hair actually clean .... and smelling nice. Her personal hygiene had been indifferent at best for god knows how long. The haircut itself was equally soothing, with Romanov humming an unfamiliar, vaguely Russian tune under her breath. She still didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, but she did look much more presentable. 

Romanov’s next suggestion was to take a bath, pulling out a dizzying selection of oils, salts and various other bath products from her bag, setting them on the counter and starting water running in the tub. The redhead then added a dash of something from one bottle; a handful of something else from a tin, and held a canister over the water to sprinkle a third substance on the surface. She watched warily, the tactical part of her mind considering the possibility of contact poisons; while the more practical side pondered for a moment how anyone could actually get clean with all those adulterants in the water. 

“I’m not sure this is a good idea - Agent Hill should be here any minute.” 

“Maria? Nah - I waved her off. You’re fine - get in.” She hadn’t realized this woman’s position in the local hierarchy. Romanov continued, “Let me give you a little privacy,” and the redhead left the bathroom. However, the door remained open, and she noticed a strategically-placed decorative mirror on the wall. Romanov could sit at the kitchenette table and use the reflection to keep an eye on her. Definitely troublesome. 

She undressed and sank down into the steaming water, which smelled vaguely spicy and green. Running the washcloth over herself, she viewed the scars that covered the left half of her chest dispassionately. They had augmented her sternum with a small, keel-shaped piece of metal that helped anchor the arm; her left shoulder blade had been similarly enhanced. The surgeries had been necessary and efficient, not esthetic. 

She heard Romanov’s voice from the other room. “I assume the arm is waterproof?” 

“Water resistant to 10 meters. But prolonged submersion is to be avoided,” she replied. 

“How long have you had it? Our best guess was about 20 years.” Romanov’s casual tone made it easier for her to respond with a truthful answer. 

“Closer to 25. Right around the time the Soviet Union crumbled.” Jarvis’ dissertation on the Winter Soldier had shaken loose more memories. She’d been under the control of the Red Hydra branch, who had loaned her out on occasion to various Soviet security organizations. She remembered missions in Nagorno-Karabakh. Then there was Kurapaty. That had been bad. “Tbilisi was where it all went pear-shaped for me. Premature grenade explosion. You’re probably too young to remember any of that, though.” 

There was a pause before Romanov replied. “You might be surprised how much a child can remember.” Another pause, and a shift in topic. “Barton approves of you.” 

“We spent all of a minute and a half in each other’s company. I can scarcely see how the man could form an opinion from that.” 

“His snap judgements are usually pretty accurate.” 

“What about you, Natasha Romanov? Do you approve of me? Or are you here for a second try with the garrote? After all, I did nearly kill you in DC.” Stark hated her and she’d already lashed out at Steve, might as well try to alienate everyone else she’d come in contact with today. She didn’t deserve the courtesies she’d been extended. 

“I wouldn’t have shared my very expensive bath products if the latter were true, Peggy Carter. Let’s say you have my conditional approval at the moment.” She was surprised at that response, and even more surprised at the relief she felt. She wondered when this woman’s esteem became important to her. 

There had been a soft robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, the long sleeves loose enough to fit over the metal arm. She joined Romanov, who was eating an apple at the kitchenette table. She took the proffered slice, wondering where the woman had found a knife. Probably brought it with her in that Mary Poppins-esque bag. 

“Dare I ask what the condition is?” 

Romanov took her hand, her flesh and blood hand, and held it, despite her initial flinch, saying “The condition is that you not give up. On yourself, or on the people who are trying to help you. You might be feeling a little broken right now.” 

A bitter laugh escaped her lips - she hadn’t meant to interrupt. “You have no idea.” 

“Again, you might be surprised.” Romanov continued. “A chat with Clint or Bruce - you haven’t met Bruce yet, but you will - might be enlightening as well. But I can tell you that broken is not ruined. Broken can be repaired. You are more than the sum of your parts, of your past. We all know that, better than most.” Natasha then leaned over and pressed her lips solemnly to the other woman’s forehead in a kiss of benediction. 

“I recommend you take a nap - you’ve had a long day already.”

Before she left, Romanov pulled a handful of folders from her bag. “I brought you files on the team members you haven’t yet met - Thor and Bruce. And some supplemental material as well. Read through these when you feel up to it.” 

She was already a bit drowsy, so gave the new files only a brief look. Thor was apparently the Norse god of the same name, if she remembered her Edith Hamilton correctly, and Doctor Banner .... well, she would definitely have to read his file more closely when she was more alert. The supplemental material was for three of her existing files - Romanov herself, Barton and Barnes. She set the first two aside, but picked Barnes’ up more out of curiosity than anything else. 

She was shocked to learn that he was alive. Through some time travel mishap that she didn’t even try to understand, Stark had been in the right place and the right time to rescue Barnes after his fall from the train in the Alps, and they had somehow returned to the present time. Time travelers and gods, men who fly and men transformed to monsters - O brave new world, that has such people in 't! 

Setting the files aside, she curled up on the bed, setting her internal alarm for a 90 minute nap. She ended up sleeping nearly around the clock; waking only when her stomach growled insistently. She actually felt well-rested - the nightmares had remained at bay. Apparently Romanov’s bath products had a soporific effect. She risked a shower, keeping the water pressure at just over a dribble helped. 

“Jarvis - has my access to the common areas been rescinded?” 

“No, Miss Carter. In fact, your presence has been requested at brunch, which is in progress as we speak.” 

“Is Tony Stark there?” 

“Sir is present, but he promises to be on his best behaviour. His outburst yesterday was somewhat atypical, and should not be an overall reflection on him.” 

She dressed a bit more carefully this morning, finding a long, knit skirt in the closet, and a loose-fitting cardigan and sweater twinset. She still couldn’t find any gloves, but assumed everyone in attendance would know all about her anyways. Her hair now fell in soft waves, courtesy of Romanov’s ministrations the night before. Looking in the mirror, she almost felt human. 

As the elevator doors opened, she expected to turn right into the hallway to the kitchen area, but it seemed that brunches were held in the main room instead. A large oval table had been set up, with massive amounts of food and entirely too many people sitting around it. Now she knew why Romanov had given her those files last night - it was her way of offering a heads-up. 

Once again, Steve was the one to welcome her to the table, rising to meet her halfway. His smile lit up his face like a sunrise; she had missed those smiles terribly. “Glad you could join us again, Peggy.” He offered his arm once again, and she took it for the short walk across the large room. 

She noticed the only empty seat, near one end of the oval would put her across from Stark, but between Steve and Romanov. She suspected this was not an accident. As they drew near the table, Thor’s voice boomed across the room. “Well met, Lady Peggy! We welcome a boon companion once lost, now found! Join us for a fine repast!” 

She glanced up at Steve who murmured. “Yeah - that’s just the way he talks. You’ll get used to it.” Pause. “You look... better ... today.” 

“I’m feeling better, thank you.” As she sat, she realized Barnes was sitting next to Stark. He caught her eye and said “Long time no see, Miss Carter” with just a hint of that devil-may-care grin on his face. 

“Longer for me than you, it seems.” she responded, the flippant reply taking her almost as much by surprise by as it did everyone else. Their exchange seemed to resolve some tension that she’d only barely been aware of, but she noticed he still watched her closely. 

Stark, on the other hand, was still sitting a bit too stiffly, focussed intently on his plate. Steve actually nudged him, clearing his throat and nodding in her direction as Stark met his eyes. Steve was never much on subtle, she remembered. 

“So... yeah... sorry about yesterday. I don’t deal well with surprises.” His eyes didn’t meet hers until he was done speaking, then his gaze was intent as he waited for her reply. 

“And I apologize for being a surprise.” The breakfast excursion hadn’t been entirely her idea, after all. 

Her response seemed to satisfy him, as he turned and called down the table. “Don’t you have something over there for Miss Carter, Robin Hood?” A covered dish was passed to her. She opened it, to see three steaming pancakes, the warm scent of apples and cinnamon rising up over them.

“Hope you don’t mind leftovers,” Steve said with a smile. She wondered which of them had thought of this; regardless, she appreciated the effort immensely. As everyone else was already eating, she served herself and began as well. The pancakes were marvelous, and she said as much. 

Barton grinned. “You should have been here a couple of months ago - when strawberries were in season.”

She dryly responded, “I was otherwise occupied.” 

Stark’s mouth quirked. “More snark from our prodigal daughter. Normally makes me nervous in a woman, but it works for you. Why did noone tell me Miss Carter has a wonderful sense of humor. Steve? Bucky?” 

Barnes shrugged, “Didn’t know her that well.” 

“I was kind of biased, Tony. I thought everything about her was wonderful.” She noted the past tense in Steve’s words a moment before he did, and watched his face fall. “Oh... that... that didn’t come out right...” he stuttered. 

Stark stood and pointed across the table at her. “Terminatrix. You, me, workshop. Let’s see what you’ve got under the hood.” He started to step away from the table, when Barnes grabbed his arm and hissed “Tony, what are you doing?” 

“Besides trying to defuse an awkward situation? Listen - I have the entire afternoon free, which happens once in a blue moon as you well know. Miss Carter seems to be in a good enough mood for me to take a look at her arm without her ... you know... trying to take one of mine off in return. No offence, gorgeous.” 

She blinked. “None taken.” Perhaps Tony was as charming as his father, after all. In the meanwhile, Steve was staring morosely at his plate, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. A bandaged hand, she realized, probably the result of her lashing out yesterday. And now it was her turn to feel guilty. 

She placed her hand on top of his to still its movement. “It’s alright. A lot has happened to both of us since then. We’ll talk more later.” Turning to face Stark, she said “I wasn’t quite finished eating, but if you’re in a hurry, we can go now.” She watched his eyes flick to Steve, who gave the barest shake of his head in return. Stark sat back down. 

“Far be it from me to come between a lady and a deep meaningful relationship with her brunch. Have you tried the ham and cheese strata? Sharp Vermont cheddar, Smithfield ham - to die for. Well, not quite literally, although the fat and cholesterol content is probably off the charts...” Stark had definitely gotten the gift of gab from his father. She listened to the ebb and flow of conversation around her as she ate. She also watched the three men nearest her very closely. There was more going on between them than what was visible on the surface, of that she was sure. 

As the meal drew to a lazy close, Stark spoke to her again. “I wasn’t kidding about wanting to check out your arm. I noticed you’re having some minor dexterity issues, and it looks as if there’s stiffness in the elbow joint. If you’d rather stay up here, I can go get some tools, but I’d like to run some diagnostics as well, and that equipment isn’t exactly portable.” 

“You’re right - it does need maintenance. Beyond what I can do myself, even if I’d had access to the proper tools. I’d like to see your workshop.” That was a bit of a lie; the idea of being alone with Stark ,surrounded by technology she knew little to nothing about unnerved her. However, the arm truly was functioning at less than optimal performance, and the negative feedback was giving her a phantom itch. 

“I’ll come along. Tony’s been using me as a guinea pig,“ Barnes joined in, gesturing with his own artificial arm. “I should at least get to enjoy watching someone else be the target of his attention.” He winked at Stark, and an electric look passed between them.


	3. Chapter 3

While there was nothing in Stark’s workshop that looked quite like the cryo tank or the chair, the variety of ominous-looking equipment was still unsettling. She had fully expected to see Tesla Coils and high voltage traveling arcs, but then decided those were much too old fashioned for Stark; he would have the 21st (or possibly 22nd) century equivalents for his mad scientist’s lab.

Stark handed her some folded towels and pointed to a door in the corner of the room. “I need access to the entire arm, all the way up to where it... connects. You can go in the bathroom and ...” he made vague gestures of wrapping something around his own chest. “Should be some safety pins or something in there.” She was stunned, and touched to realize that he was concerned about her modesty. None of her previous handlers or the lab techs had given any thought to her feelings of exposure, of shame. She was just another piece of equipment to them. 

She entered the WC, removed her cardigan and sweater, then wrapped a towel around herself, securing it with the safety pins. She then draped another towel over her shoulders and joined Stark. He had found a padded bench and pulled over a workstand, adjusting its height so she could rest the arm on it at elbow level. 

She sat on the bench, then removed the towel from around her shoulders. To his credit, Stark didn’t even blink, but she heard a gasp from Barnes, who was standing behind her. She was a little surprised at his reaction; after all, the man had lost an arm himself. 

“Dum-E, go get me tray 91-B.” Stark must have seen the nonplussed look on her face and quickly explained. “No, Dum-E is one my robots, I wasn’t talking to Bucky. Trust me, he’s got plenty of nicknames, but Dummy’s not one of ‘em.” This time Stark winked at Barnes, and she suddenly couldn't resist confirming her suspicions. 

“Is one of those nicknames ‘sweetheart’”? she asked. From his startled look, she realized she’d managed to surprise Stark yet again; something she had a feeling he wasn’t used to. 

“Who tattled? Natasha? She’s usually so good about keeping personal details to herself. I can’t believe she would have ....” Stark practically babbled. 

She interrupted. “Miss Romanov is the soul of discretion. But I have been a spy for literally longer than you have been alive. I am very good at reading body language and hearing what has gone unsaid. The footsie under the table was also a bit of a giveaway.” 

Barnes swatted Stark on the shoulder. “Toldja someone would notice. Remind me never to get on this dame’s bad side.” They both seemed relieved that their relationship seemed a non-issue to her. Then she replayed yesterday’s disastrous breakfast scene in her mind. Was there something going on between Steve and Stark as well? She supposed it was none of her business. As long as no one was being hurt. Especially not Steve. 

A robot that looked identical to the one that had visited her during her first days at the Tower wheeled over, with a tray in its claw. It dropped the tray, beeping excitedly, as it reached out to her. It went tap, tap-ta-tap, tap on her arm, and she rapped twice on the table in return, pleased to see her companion again. 

“Dum-E! What in the hell do you think you’re doing? Leave Miss Carter and her oh so shiny arm alone! She is not here for your amusement! I swear - I will break you down into your component atoms and scatter you across the ionosphere.” Stark tried to to push the robot away, but its center of gravity was lower than his, and its tires gripped the floor firmly. 

“It’s quite alright. Dear Dum-E and I know each other well, despite the lack of formal introduction. In fact, he was the first friend I made here.” She patted his claw fondly, and he whirred his approval. 

“Oh, don’t encourage him, “ Stark grumbled as he picked up the tray and its scattered contents. “Now, let’s see what we can do about that stiff elbow.” He spent about 45 minutes poking about inside the arm - drawing diagrams and taking notes. Dum-E watched for a few moments, then wandered away. Barnes had picked up a magazine and glanced their direction every once in a while. Finally, Stark gestured and his notes flew from the pad up onto one of the panes of glass standing on end on his desk. She would love to know exactly how that worked. 

Stark sighed. “And here comes the not so fun part. Before I can do anything else, I need to get a full internal scan, and I’m going to need you to keep still. Really, really still. As in immobilizing your arm still. Are you okay with that?” 

She took a deep breath, pushing the painful memories of being strapped into the chair from her mind. She could do this. She could make this choice. “Yes,” she replied, more on edge than she’d intended. 

Stark set the equipment up, including an L shaped support for the arm. “Here we go, m’lady.” To get as clear a scan as possible, the hand was placed palm down, with a strap across the knuckles. Another ran across the wrist, a third braced the elbow into the corner of the support. The last strap held her shoulder ramrod straight against the back of the brace. It was uncomfortable, and she could already feel her pulse starting to race. 

Stark had said the scan shouldn’t take any more than fifteen or twenty minutes; but she almost immediately lost track of time. She hadn’t even realized that she was clenching her right fist until she felt Barnes place his hands around it, uncurling her fingers. She was surprised how responsive his artificial hand and arm were; he must not have been joking when he said was a guinea pig for Stark. “Peggy? Look at me. Tell me what you remember about Steve.” He’d pulled up a chair so their eyes were on the same level. 

It turned out to be quite a lot. She started with first time they met, on the parade grounds at the army base. Barnes smiled when she mentioned how she’d decked one of the other recruits, and outright laughed at the flagpole tale. “Stevie was always good at figuring out the smart way.” He grimaced a bit as she described Phillips’ grenade test, saying tightly, “Yep, that’s Steve. Did damn near the same thing out in the field - taking bullets meant for the rest of us.” 

She talked about Steve’s transformation, and the part Howard Stark played in it. How he had regretted his decision to join the USO tour - she wished she still had his dancing monkey drawing. She spoke about Steve’s last show at Azzano, and how she and Howard conspired to drop him behind enemy lines to rescue the captive members of the 107th Infantry Regiment. 

She recalled the formation of the Howling Commandos, and how she’d tracked their progress across Europe from Phillips’ command post. She saw Barnes’ eyes grow dark, his jaw clench. She realized this was all very recent history for him, and he knew what was coming next. 

“Shall I continue?” He nodded, tensely. 

She told him about seeing Steve sitting in the bombed out pub, after the mission where he had lost his best friend. How desperately he had wished he could get drunk. How reckless he had been on the next missions, finally gambling his own freedom during the final HYDRA raid, trusting the skill and timing of the remaining Howling Commandos. Their first and last kiss, on the speeding car, before he leapt to the Valkyrie and flew out of her life. She recalled every word of their final conversation over the radio. 

“Peggy? The scan is done.” Stark’s voice was surprisingly gentle. She blinked away tears as he removed the straps and placed the towel back around her shoulders. He stepped away, ostensibly to return his tools to their proper places and start analyzing the scans. 

“Do you still love him?” Barnes asked quietly, still holding her hand. 

“Not the way I did so long ago.” she replied. “Do you?” 

He raised one eyebrow. “What makes you say that?” 

“Steve wasn’t just mourning a friend, a brother in arms. He was mourning a man he loved. I didn’t quite see it at the time, being blinded by my own feelings. Please tell me it wasn’t one-sided.” 

“It wasn’t... and isn’t. Rogers may be a punk, but he’s my punk.” He grinned. “Guess I got the best of both worlds. And yeah, Steve knows about Tony... we’ve got an arrangement, the three of us.” 

She nodded, the loose ends falling into place. “Not that you need my blessing, but I’m glad for you all.” She wasn’t quite sure she understood, but again, it wasn’t any of her business. The world needed all the love it could get, in her opinion. “Would you escort me back to my room? I’m feeling rather exhausted. Just let me get dressed.” 

As they left the workshop, Barnes called back over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back, Tin Man. Love you.” 

“Love you too, Scarecrow.” Stark said absently, his attention split between multiple screens of data. She waited until the door closed before turning on Barnes with mock-outrage. 

“Don’t try to tell me Steve’s the Cowardly Lion - that man has more courage in his little finger...” 

He interrupted, “Nope - he’s the Wizard of Oz - grants Tony ‘n’ me our every desire.” It was his eyebrow waggle that did her in. It felt good to laugh; she couldn’t recall the last time she had done so. 

They rode the elevator in companionable silence; and as they neared her room, she said, “I know you came to the workshop today for Tony’s sake. He’s not comfortable around me, perhaps for good reason. But I wanted to thank you for your help, for giving me something to focus on during that dreadful scan.” 

He smiled. “You’re welcome, Peggy. But I got something out of it too. Learned a few things about Steve that he probably wouldn’t have ever told me.” 

“Very true - our friend plays his cards close to his chest, doesn’t he? I’ll let you get back to the workshop. Thank you again, Bucky.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. 

She napped for about two hours, then pieced together a light meal from the contents of her kitchenette for tea, while reviewing the files Romanov had given her the day before. Dr. Garner called, and they talked about the events of the day. He was very pleased with her progress, and congratulated her on her efforts. She read for awhile, then went to bed, unsure if there would be any nightmares, but she once again slept soundly through the night. 

She had planned to take breakfast in her room; however, Jarvis indicated that her presence was requested in the common area kitchen. She found both Stark and Banner hunched over a tablet, their beverages of choice sitting abandoned on the counter. Romanov was curled up around what, according to the aroma, was a chai latte, while Barnes was apparently staring down a bowl of cold cereal. 

“Good morning, everyone.” 

“Greetings, Miss Carter.” Banner said.” Tony’s been up most of the night going over the scans of your arm, and he thinks he found some sort of tracking gadget. Now he’s concerned that there may not just be the one.” 

Her heart sank. How stupid she had been. Of course HYDRA would have tagged her - she was a valuable asset, one that they would go to any length to retrieve. On reflection, she was surprised an attempt to reacquire her hadn’t already been made. 

He continued. “The good news is that your current room assignment is basically a Faraday cage and therefore well-shielded; the bad news is that the majority of Stark Tower is not. It is possible that your recent excursions may have provided HYDRA with some intel as to your location.”

Romanov broke in. “We can drop the ‘may have’. Chatter from this morning indicates Red Hydra is actively searching for the Winter Soldier, and they’ve narrowed their search down to the city. Anything you can tell us about the bugs, Peggy? How many or where they might be?”

She thought she could, but it wouldn’t be pleasant. “Give me a moment. Romanov, you’re carrying, aren’t you?” she asked cryptically. The redhead nodded. “Keep an eye on me.” She took a deep breath, sat down in a chair and dove deep into the recesses of her mind. Dr. Garner generally disapproved of compartmentalizing, but had offered her a technique to keep the Winter Soldier memories and thought processes at bay. He called it a form of active visualization; she called it a bit daft, but it seemed to be working. She saw the box - a crate with steel straps and a large lock - in her mind’s eye. It contained the information she needed; she’d just have to fight for it. She opened the lid. 

“What the hell was that?” Stark spoke hoarsely, a few minutes later. “Did she just go all Exorcist on us? That wasn’t Peggy; that was ... the Soldier.” He was pale, and a little shaky on his feet. Barnes had moved to stand next to Stark, arm around his shoulders, holding him close. 

“No, Tony. That, apparently, was Agent Carter getting us the information we needed.” Romanov said dryly, putting her pistol back in her holster. “Are you back with us, Peggy?” She swam up to full awareness. She’d gotten almost all the intel she needed, before having to force the Winter Soldier back into the crate.

Banner had apparently been taking notes, as he said to her, “You told us there were five devices, and gave locations and descriptions for four of them, including the one in your artificial arm that we already knew about. You said information was not available for the fifth device.” 

“Well, no...” said Barnes slowly, “I believe her exact words -- in her own voice -- were, ‘The icy bitch won’t give me the file.’” He looked a little shaken as well, she thought. 

“I paraphrased.” Banner replied levelly. “That was a little.. risky, Miss Carter.” He gave her a disapproving look. He knew whereof he spoke, she thought, and wondered if he had an iron cage in his mind to constrain his large green accomplice. 

“I considered it an acceptable risk, Doctor, especially with Agent Romanov as backup. Now, how about we get these goddamned trackers out of me?” 

“We’re in the process of relocating relevant equipment to Tony’s workshop, which is also shielded.” Banner replied. “However, I’m concerned about the location of the implanted devices. It may take more surgical skill than I possess to actually retrieve them. I’m not that kind of doctor.” 

“Then find someone who can do the job, or I will go in after them myself. I will not put anyone here in further danger.” She spoke briskly, and refused to break eye contact with Banner. 

“Sounds like informed medical consent to me, Bruce.” Stark broke in. “Jarvis, put the Tower’s medical team on standby. Let’s rock and roll. ” He raised his arm, made a circular motion as if to gather them all in, and pointed to the elevator. She followed him down the corridor. So much for breakfast. 

“I’m coming along.” Romanov added, matching her stride. “Sounds like a full day ahead of you, and once the Science Twins start doing their thing - normal conversation goes out the window.” 

“Thank you, Natasha.” She paused for a moment, and looked back to Barnes. “Bucky, do you have any free time this morning? I could use a little immoral support.” She was starting to appreciate the appeal of Stark’s smart-mouthed approach to stressful situations; laughing in the face of danger made it a little easier to cope. 

Her request got a smirk out of Barnes, “Immoral, you say? Then I’m the right man for the job. Spot me a white mocha espresso and we have a deal.” 

Romanov chuckled. “I’ll hit the coffee shop in the lobby and meet you in Tony’s workshop.”


	4. Chapter 4

Since the medical equipment hadn’t yet all arrived, it made sense to retrieve the tracking device in the metal arm, since they knew exactly where it was from the previous day’s scans. As she’d expected, the arm had to be strapped down to the brace again. Barnes was already in position, sitting backwards on a chair in front of her, mocha on the corner of the table as he held her hand in both of his. 

“Whatcha want to chat about, Peg?” 

“Your turn - tell me about Steve.” She expected tales of them growing up in the city and the various scrapes they got into. She recalled overhearing several of these stories (probably embellished) around the various mess tent tables and pub bars during the days of the Howling Commandos. Instead, he told her how he fell in love with his best friend. They’d grown up together on the same block in Brooklyn, and after Steve’s mother died, they shared an apartment. It had been a gradual process; he couldn’t quite pin down when he realized that Steve was the only one he wanted to be with; it just happened. But of course back then, that kind of love was taboo, so he continued to go out on the town with the girls, wrangling double dates for his pal whenever he could. 

“Then there was a cold & wet September day. Steve forgot his key to the building again - I told him I was gonna hang it on a string around his neck for chrissake. The punk sat outside for almost an hour before I made it home. He got sick. Really sick. The super hadn’t turned the heat on for the winter yet, so we piled up all the blankets from his bed ‘n mine and curled up together. I was sitting up against one end of the sofa, and he lay back against me. When he had asthma attacks, we sat in that position for hours; it seemed to help.”

“Even tho he was running a fever, he was shaking with chills, couldn’t get warm. That’s when I realized that I might lose him, and he wouldn’t ever know what he really meant to me.” Barnes’ voice broke for just a moment, but then he continued. “You know, in the dark, with the sound of the rain hitting the window, it was suddenly easy to say the words. I didn’t think he’d really even heard me, since he just mumbled ‘M’kay, Buck.’ and went to sleep” 

“I woke up the next morning to see him sitting up, just kinda staring at me. His fever had broken in the night; but there was an odd look in his eyes... nervous and eager all at the same time, like a kid on Christmas morning. He told me, ‘I had a funny dream last night, Bucky. I dreamed we were here in the dark, sitting like we do when I can’t breathe. You were telling me something important. You said you loved me, Buck, not like a brother, but the way... well, the way that gets a fella beat up out there in the alley. But it was okay, because it was you. I liked that dream.’” 

“And then the little punk leaned over and kissed me. I had to hide in the dark and whisper in his ear, but Steve? Yeah, he’s always been the brave one. Turns out he’d been feeling the same way about me for awhile, but because I was always flirting with anything in a skirt, he figured it was a lost cause. Guess we were both stupid kids, back then.” Bucky smiled, lost for a moment in his memories. 

He continued, “Speaking of stupid kids, let me tell you just how long Tony was pining after our favorite Captain before we finally ganged up and tripped him.” He ducked as Stark good-naturedly swung a spanner in his general direction. 

“That story, my good lady, will have to wait for another day because....” Stark pulled a surprisingly large hunk of circuitry out of the arm’s bicep, “I finally got that rat bastard tracking device unhooked.” He dropped it on a tray that Dum-E was holding out. The robot peered suspiciously at the contents of the tray, and what sounded almost like a Bronx cheer came out of his speakers. “Be careful with that, Dum-E. It belongs to the nice lady with the shiny, shiny arm. Go put it over on the xray scanner.” Barnes was already unhooking the straps, and she sighed with relief. One down. 

Banner had finished setting up and testing the medical equipment by the time they were done, so she stepped into the WC to change into a hospital gown. She’d thanked Barnes again for his assistance, not wanting to subject him to the next phase of the operation. On his way out, he asked Jarvis to provide updates to him and the rest of the team. Stark joined his bots at the xray scanner on the other side of the room, holding what seemed to be a lively conversation with them. Romanov offered her services as scrub nurse to Banner, as she'd had plenty of experience out in the field.

Banner decided to start with the device she had said was in her shoulder, as it was the largest and oldest. He probed the skin over the scapula with his fingers and quickly located it. The tracker turned out to be roughly the size of an egg, though slightly flattened. The scar tissue had helped camouflage it, as did its position next to the metal bracing for the arm. Banner stopped, and asked if she was ready for him to remove it. 

“Quickly, please.” The sooner this whole process was over, the sooner she would stop feeling as if her former captors were watching and listening to her and everything around her. He used a local anesthetic, and between that and the lack of sensation in the scar tissue, she barely felt anything. Stark peered over Banner’s shoulder as it was removed. “Hm - positively ancient. That tech is twenty years old at least. Same with that garbage I pulled out of the arm - I bet they’re still using the Argos system and telnet. How quaint.” She found his comment somewhat reassuring. 

“You forget.” Banner replied grimly, “Peggy told us the other devices were installed more recently, and therefore probably higher quality.” They were interrupted by Jarvis. “Agent Hill is on her way to the workshop. She has something to discuss with Miss Carter.” Apparently, the AI had brought the agent up to speed regarding the day’s activities, as she greeted everyone casually enough.

“I have some good news for you, Peggy. Dr. Garner has cleared you to move out of the secure quarters into a standard residential suite here at the Tower. If it’s alright with you, we can get that taken care of today, while you’re otherwise occupied. Unless you’d rather handle your personal belongings yourself?” 

“I appreciate the thought, Agent Hill, but I came here with literally nothing but the clothes on my back, and those, I feel certain, have already been disposed of long ago. You have my permission to pack and move the few things I’ve accumulated so far - in fact, I would be grateful for the assistance.” She was thankful for Hill’s consideration of her feelings, making sure she knew what was going on, and offering her options. It was very different than what she was used to under her former handlers. 

“I’ll take care of things, then.” Agent Hill made her goodbyes and left the workshop. 

The next tracker proved more difficult. Banner used an ultrasound machine to locate a smaller device buried deep in the muscle of her right thigh. He had to use multiple shots to numb the area and it still didn’t provide full pain relief. But she’d dealt with worse; remembering back to a gunshot and the subsequent stitches in much the same location.... Jarvis! Of course! Edwin Jarvis, Howard Stark’s butler, and her partner on several clandestine operations way back when. His steady hand and stalwart heart had assisted her on many occasions, including the aforesaid stitches. Her heart sank when she realized that he had quite probably passed on. She would have to ask this JARVIS what he knew about his predecessor, but this was not the time. 

They all needed a break after this. Unfortunately, she was not allowed anything to eat, and only a few sips of water. Banner was concerned about the fourth device, as she’d said it was located in her pelvic region. If they had to do surgery, better that she not have anything in her system. This was only a minor privation; she found a comfortable chair and got a little further in the novel she’d been working on, while Romanov, Stark and Banner had a late lunch. 

She tried to remain relaxed as Banner used the ultrasound machine to locate their next target. Romanov was keeping her company, reading to her from the latest gossip rag, when suddenly she heard a concerned “hmmm” from Banner, and the redhead’s hand tightened ever so slightly on her shoulder. Yes, she remembered the HYDRA technician’s idle chit chat about removing some “potentially inconvenient bits of tissue” as they implanted the tracker. They had taken yet another choice away from her that day, God damn their souls. But she didn’t want pity, not from anyone, and both Romanov and Banner seemed to realize that, as not a word was said. 

After a moment, Banner stepped away to make a phone call. He returned, about twenty minutes later with an armful of material. She realized they were surgical drapes. “I’m not going under, Bruce. I refuse general anesthetic. Give me a spinal block if you have to, but I can’t .. I can’t.” She hated that her voice broke with her last words. 

Banner nodded. “I hear you, Peggy. I understand. I’ve had my share of undesired medical interference. We’re bringing in someone with more expertise for this; as I said before, I’m not really this kind of doctor. And while our medical team knows how to be discreet and every one one of them has clearance... we still don’t need word of your presence here getting out at the moment, so you’re going to be a Jane Doe for now. Are you okay with that?” he finished, as he tucked a sheet securely around her upper body and metal arm. 

“Yes. Thank you, Bruce.” Banner was a good man, and she trusted his decisions. A few moments later, a petite, dark haired woman joined them. “This is Doctor Chandrasekhar. She’s reviewed the ultrasound scans and thinks she can retrieve the device with a laparoscopic procedure.” 

“Hello, Miss Doe. Laparoscopic surgery will be less invasive than the method that was used for the .... installation of the implant. However, I have concerns about the amount of scar tissue and we may have to go with a transvaginal extraction instead. I understand you have refused general anesthetic; I believe a spinal block will be sufficient, along with a mild sedative. Do you have any questions for me?” The doctor spoke assuredly; professional, but still with a sense of warmth. However, she noticed faint lines of concern between the woman’s brows. She wondered what explanation, if any, had been given as to why the surgery was necessary. 

“Thank you, doctor; I think you’ve explained everything quite well.” When the doctor’s assistant came by a few minutes later, she palmed the pill she’d been given, as she wanted to be fully aware of what was going on. The procedure seemed to go well; the spinal block was mostly effective, though she still felt pressure and pulling sensations. She couldn’t actually watch what was going on, due to the surgical drapes, and besides, she was supposed to be sedated. Romanov was still by her side, but the glossy magazines had been put aside in favor of holding her hand, stroking her hair and humming the same Russian folk tune from before. 

The procedure took less than an hour, but it was late afternoon by the time the spinal block wore off completely and she felt stable enough to get up again. When Stark came over to confer with her and Banner on the results of his tests on the devices, she asked. “What about the fifth tracker?” 

“Good question, my dear. Still no idea where or what it is?” She shook her head; she didn’t have the energy to try to fight the Soldier again for that intel. “Hey, Dum-E, bring that over here.” The robot wheeled over, with some sort of scanning device in its claw. “Mind if I let your biggest fan take a look at you, Peg?” Stark asked. 

“Whatever you think is best.” She was tired, but determined to free herself from every last bit of HYDRA tech that she could do without. She stood, a bit wobbly for a moment, then Dum-E proceeded to aim the scanner at her, slowly running it up and down a few inches from her body, while Stark watched the readout closely. Once the scan was finished, Stark briskly rubbed his hands together. 

“Okay - so something triggered right around here.” He lightly touched the back of her neck, near the base of her skull. “But it seems to be inactive - I’m not getting any kind of ping from it.” Banner studied the screen, then said, “Let’s get a better fix on it with the ultrasound.” 

Stark waved him off. “Too close to her spinal column, you won’t be able to see it in the shadows. It’s only about the size of a nickel. Besides, it’s been a long day - Peggy should get to enjoy her new digs. And get something to eat, she’s probably starving! Thor’s on KP tonight - he makes an awesome beef stew.” 

She was indeed quite hungry, and beef stew sounded delicious. “I’m ready to call it a day, gentlemen. Let me get changed and I’ll join everyone shortly.” 

Thor had apparently picked up a liking for the cuisine of the American Southwest, as his beef stew had hints of cumin, ancho chile powder and more than a few jalapenos. It was wonderful, as was the rest of the meal. Steve apparently had business outside the Tower that kept him from joining them at dinner, but everyone else was in attendance. Despite the stress of the day, she felt relaxed, sitting at the dining table with her companions. 

Jarvis directed her to her new quarters - a one bedroom suite facing east. It was decorated in neutral colors, but Stark had told her to feel free to personalize it, offering to send her out on a shopping spree whenever she liked. She wasn’t sure she was ready to be set loose in the city, even with backup, whether it was Romanov or one of the agents. She also wasn’t sure how much longer she wanted to live off Stark’s largesse. She’d never been one to take charity, monetary or otherwise, and she was concerned that at some point she would have to pay the piper. 

She had just picked her novel back up, when there was a knock at the door. “Come in.” 

“Hey, Peg.” It was Steve, with a bouquet of flowers. “Thought you might like these - combination housewarming and get well gift.” 

“What a surprise! Thank you, Steve.” She suspected he’d simply chosen the bouquet at random - but the yellow roses, daffodils, and daisies spoke volumes to those who understood the language of flowers. 

He smiled, but it wasn’t the sunrise smile from before. “You’re welcome, Peggy. After all, you’re still my best girl.” She detected just a hint of brittleness in his words; that sense of duty she'd always admired was breaking her heart. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly..... 

“No, Steve, not any longer. As I said earlier, a lot has happened to both of us, since the war. I see you have best boys now, a long-time beloved and a new beau - both of whom love you very much. You and I... well... it seems it wasn't meant to be.” She spoke as gently as she could, keeping her voice steady while watching his beautiful blue eyes cloud over. 

“Peggy, I’m so sorry....” and they were holding each other, not in a lover’s embrace, but rather as two survivors in search of solace. “I never meant to hurt you, please forgive me...” he whispered into her hair, and she felt his chest hitch in a sob. 

She interrupted him, saying, “Never apologize for who you are or who you love, my dear. I will always care deeply for you, Steve, just not the way I did before. I’m glad you’ve found a place where you belong and can be who you’re meant to be.” She smoothed back his hair from his forehead, and kissed him lightly, chastely on the lips. She said, more brightly than she felt, “Now, go home to Tony and Bucky. I’ll be fine.” And she would be, eventually. 

 

She awoke the next morning to the sound of a klaxon. Stark’s voice came over the speakers. “Heads up everyone - this is not a drill. Let’s go fry up some calamari!” 

“Jarvis? What’s going on?” She blinked at the sunrise through her windows. She had forgotten for the moment that she was in the new suite instead of her old room, 

“The team is being called out for a mission. I cannot provide any further information at this time.” 

This was the first time since her arrival that there had been this need. She had watched footage from the Battle of New York, and had herself been an integral part of the affair in Washington D.C.; but she had assumed events like those were few and far between. They were leaving her alone in the building for what she assumed was the first time. She didn’t like this, didn’t like it at all. She was just about to ask Jarvis to contact either Agent May or Hill, when she suddenly felt a buzz at the base of her skull, then heard a pop and hiss in her ears. 

“There you are, our little lost lamb,” purred a terrifyingly familiar voice. She froze; it was her HYDRA handler. Dear God - the fifth device was active after all. He continued. “I apologize for not contacting you sooner, my dear. The last several months have been ... chaotic. We have triangulated your position in the city and will be retrieving you shortly. Stand by for further instructions.” 

She grabbed a piece of paper and started writing. While the tracker might be able to pick up ambient sounds or her own speech via bone conduction, she was fairly certain that there was no visual component. 

**“5th Tracker active - HYDRA has fix & is enroute. Avengers mission - trap? Wired for sound = 2 way? Radio silence” **

She picked the piece of paper up and held it in front of the HVAC grate, as well as the light fixtures - she hoped that Jarvis had cameras installed even here, in her new room, and those locations were the most logical for placement. 

She quickly searched the drawers in the kitchen and found two large, sharp knives. She hadn’t been given access to the armory yet (that she knew of) and couldn’t risk asking Jarvis. She briefly considered luring the HYDRA troops away from Stark Tower. But that might put civilians in harm’s way - she would not do that again. Never again. 

Another pop and hiss. “Winter Soldier - we are nearing your location. Are you being watched or guarded?”

She fought to stay silent - but the crate had broken open and the icy bitch was taking control. “Negative,” the Soldier replied. 

“Then prepare for retrieval. Passphrase: Petrushka at ease.” She found herself dropping to her knees, arms crossed behind her back, head bowed. She’d kept hold of one of the knives, and realized she’d accidentally cut herself while moving into position. She didn’t think the wound was quite deep enough for her to actually bleed out before they arrived... which was a shame. She knew too much about the Avengers; intel that could be used against them. She would do her best to resist the debriefing, but she remembered too well the power of the chair. 

Her handler had kept the comm link open - she heard a vehicle coming to a stop, then the doors opening. Another vehicle pulled up nearby, its diesel engine left running as she heard the footsteps of over a dozen men. Did they expect to need that many troops to take her back into custody, when they had used the passphrase? A show of brute force was the wrong tactic for this location. A single person - her handler - would have been able to gain access to the Tower much more easily, then could simply have escorted her out. Something wasn’t quite right. 

There was the sound of a door being kicked in, and all hell broke loose. She heard shots being fired, both inside and out, and a sharp metal ricochet. This made no sense - why were there no screams? No crowd noise? She’d seen footage of the Stark Tower lobby - it should have been full of people arriving for work. Instead, the noise and chaos she heard seemed to be echoing around a large empty room. She fought desperately against the programming her handler had initiated with that passphrase command; she had to know what was going on. 

“Jarvis?” she managed to hiss between her teeth. 

“It appears Sir’s plan to use the trackers as decoys has been successful. The operatives that were assigned to take you back into HYDRA custody are being neutralized as we speak.” 

Stark broke in. “But we had a little surprise party going for them instead. Bucky and Clint, great job picking off those goons. Mostly non-lethal shots, looks like, so we’ll be able to ask some questions. Steve and Nat did some damage to the ones who made it inside - I hardly even needed to fire up the repulsors. Unfortunately, the head honcho took himself out once he saw what was up. Thor, Bruce - looks like you can stand down.” 

“Sir - it appears some sort of override command has been used on Miss Carter. She is in a kneeling position on the floor in her room, and she seems to be bleeding rather profusely.” 

“Shit. Keep an eye on her vitals. I’ll be right there.” 

She felt dizzy; perhaps she had nicked her brachial artery after all. She was finding it hard to stay upright. As the room started to grow dim, she heard shattering glass, and saw a flash of red and gold out of the corner of her eye.


	5. Chapter 5

She awoke to a dull throb in her right arm. “You gave us a bit of a scare, there, Peggy." She opened her eyes to see Steve, leaning over the side of the bed. She was back in the secure quarters, an IV in her arm. As her mind cleared, and she recalled the events of the day, a wave of anger broke over her. 

“I gave **you** a bit of a scare? Oh, that’s rich.” She couldn’t keep the scorn from her voice. 

He looked honestly confused. “Huh?” 

“I had no idea what was going on, Steve. At 5:30 this morning, I woke to the sound of an alarm; finding that the only people in the world I cared about were heading into danger, and I was left behind. Alone.” 

“Then, I hear a voice in my head, through a device I’d been told was disabled. It was the man who controlled every inch of my life for the last two decades, a man I hated and feared. He told me that he was coming to retrieve his asset. Which he proceeded to secure with a passphrase, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.” 

“I thought you, all of you, had been sent into a trap because of me; and if you did survive, I knew I would be turned against you.” She pointed to the cut on her arm, already healing. “I prayed this was deep enough for me to bleed out before he arrived, Steve. Do you understand that? Then to find I was simply being used as bait? ” She struggled not to burst into tears; tears of rage and betrayal. 

“No, that’s not.... not what was supposed to happen. Tony said that ... Thor and Bruce were here just in case... How did HYDRA contact you? ” The shock of her words had apparently thrown Steve for a loop. Perhaps he had been in the dark as well? 

“Let's go back over the plan, “ he continued, speaking calmly. “Tony had the idea to use your tracking devices as a decoy. He stayed up most of the night to tinker with them so that HYDRA would think they were still on you. We set up shop in an empty warehouse across the river, with Thor and Bruce keeping an eye on Stark Tower. I thought you were in on all this.” She knew Steve well enough to feel sure he was telling the truth. 

“I was not. Apparently Mister Stark is keeping secrets. Jarvis - do you have anything to add?” 

“Sir considered the mission parameters to be on a need to know basis, Miss Carter. You are not an active team member. For what it is worth, your behavior during the incident was admirable. Your message in particular was quite ingenious.” 

“Wait, what message?” Steve broke in. 

“Miss Carter indicated via a note that the fifth tracking device was indeed active and that HYDRA was in contact with her - apparently they knew where she was and were on their way to retrieve her. She was concerned that your mission was a trap, and indicated that any verbal communication might be picked up by the device, hence the written message. She then armed herself with knives from the kitchen. That is how she sustained her wound, albeit accidentally.”

“Fifth tracking device? Why didn’t that one get removed?” Steve was apparently still trying to get his mind around what had happened back at the Tower. 

“Stark said it had been disabled. Either he was lying to me, or he was mistaken. If he’s anything like his father....” she stated grimly. 

“... he’s never mistaken when it comes to technology.” Steve finished. “So you really didn't know... and you thought we were all in danger... and that you were .... Oh, Peggy, I am so sorry. I can’t believe Tony did this.” 

“I can." The burning anger had subsided to a cold, hard knot in the pit of her stomach. Stark men were too prone to think that the end justified the means. "He doesn’t trust me. I’ve seen abundant proof of that.” 

“So have I. But he has to understand that you aren’t the Winter Soldier. That it wasn’t you who....” She knew what he couldn’t bring himself to say. 

“I don’t think he can ever get over that, Steve, and for good reason.” 

“Tony is a complicated man, Peggy, but he does mean well. I’ll talk to him.” She didn’t want this to become an issue between them. She would rather handle it herself. 

“Please, Steve, let me deal with this. I don’t need you to fight my battles. I never have.” 

He nodded his head, and stood. “Okay, Peggy. I think the nurse wants to check in on you, so I’ll be going.” He had a lousy poker face. She knew exactly what he was going to do. 

\-----  
After awaking from yet another nightmare, she gave up on sleep for the night, opting instead to get some work done. 

“Jarvis - could you ask Dum-E to come see me, please?” 

“Dum-E is not permitted to leave the workshop unless permission is granted by an authorized entity. Said entities are Sir, Miss Potts and myself.” 

“Jarvis - I have a favor to ask.....” 

About an hour and a half later, she heard a knock on the door. “Miss Carter, I hate to bother you, but rumor has it that a creepy stalker bot has been sighted in your vicinity.” It was Stark. Dum-E squawked and tried to hide under the table. “May I come in so I can give that lovesick brat what for? He knows he’s not supposed to leave the workshop without permission. ”

“Yes, you may come in, but he did have permission. I asked Jarvis to allow Dum-E to come see me.” 

Stark stood in the doorway, looking rather disheveled, in bare feet, flannel pants and a tshirt. Apparently he couldn’t sleep either. “Why did you want Dum-E?” 

“I could use his expertise... and I needed a friend. Someone who wasn’t afraid of me, didn’t feel sorry for me... didn’t want me to be something I wasn’t. At the moment, that seems to eliminate everyone except him.” She was too tired to even attempt to be tactful. 

Stark looked thoughtful for a moment. “Just so you know, Dum-E’s expertise is generally in making mistakes. For example, his smoothies have motor oil in them.” 

Jarvis interrupted, “To be fair sir, you were the one who stored motor oil in an old molasses jar.” 

“That’s beside the point - and who puts molasses in a smoothie?” Stark pulled up a chair next to her, sinking down with a sigh. “So - apparently I fucked up today... yesterday... whenever the hell the HYDRA takedown happened. ” She assumed Steve had given Stark a talking to. 

“Yes. Yes, you did.” She wasn’t giving this man an inch; she was well past succumbing to the Stark charm. 

“I honestly thought that last device was just a health monitor and transponder. We wanted them to think you were still alive. I wasn’t 100% sure that the tinkering I’d done with the other junk would work. I had absolutely no intention of putting you in harm’s way, Peggy, you need to understand that. That’s why Thor and Bruce hung back here at the Tower.” He sounded surprisingly sincere, which actually made her feel worse. She would have almost rather that he lied to her, then her anger would be justified. 

She responded. “So why didn’t you tell me what the plan was? You still don’t trust me, do you?” 

He turned defensive. “When I see you turn back into that dead-eyed assassin right in front of me? Yeah, no. You’ve done a lot of damage to my family over the years. More than you know.” 

“I remember that December day well, Tony. I couldn’t stop the Soldier from carrying out the mission, but ...” 

Stark interrupted her. “He loved you, did you know that? After he was gone, and I was going through his things, I found a stack of letters in one of his safes. Letters my father had written over about a decade and a half, all addressed to you, Peggy. The first one was from November 3rd, 1943, the night you talked him into dropping Cap over enemy territory. ” 

“In those letters, he wrote about how you saved his reputation, his life. And also that you were the only woman, hell, the only person, who called him on his bullshit when it really mattered. You made him want to be a better man, to live up to the potential you saw in him. He damn near proposed to you after you talked him down from dropping bombs on Manhattan, but ... well, he knew he could never measure up to Captain America.” Stark paused, scrubbing a hand over his face. She wondered if he felt a similar doubt. 

“So, yeah, you weren’t the only one carrying a torch. Dad got involved with SHIELD because he knew you thought it was the right thing to do. And then you disappeared. He searched for you for almost two years, on top of the Arctic expeditions. But then he crawled into the bottle and settled for another woman, who knew he was doing just that. And then eventually I showed up.” A small, sad chuckle escaped from his lips. “Just think - if things had been a little different, I could have been your kid.” He paused for a moment; then, with surprising vehemence, said, “Tell me he didn’t know it was you, at the end.” 

She shook her head sadly. “It was supposed to look like an accident; a bullet in the tire was deemed sufficient, the curves and the cliffs would take care of the rest. But the Soldier had to confirm the success of the mission. Your mother, God rest her soul, died instantly, but your father .... well, he was always full of surprises.” 

“Heaven knows how, but Howard had obtained a command phrase for the Winter Soldier. It was an older one, but still valid. He spoke the words and she.... I... was under his control. He could have ordered me to shoot myself, or walk out into the ocean and drown. He could have told me to go for help. But instead.... he took out a photo of you. He ordered the Soldier to watch over you from the shadows, to protect you from HYDRA. To become a double agent. With his last words, he commanded me to take care of his boy.” 

“But Howard didn’t know HYDRA’s grander scheme. The Soldier was let off the leash very seldom over these past couple of decades. I did what I could to protect you, when I was able to. But... while you were in the desert, I was on ice. I’m so sorry I let both you and Howard down.” They sat together in silence for awhile. 

“You were very brave to reach out, to bring me here, Tony. I was confused, disoriented, lost. You looked so much like your father... and I knew somehow you were someone I could trust. I’m sorry I haven’t said thank you before now.” She took a deep breath, and stood. “So what was a mission for the Winter Soldier, I now do of my free will. Dum-E, help me finish what we started.” 

Dum-E wheeled over, tool in claw, loosening the last few connectors that she couldn’t reach. She let the robot take the weight of the arm as she unclasped it from the attachment points. “Peg, you don’t have to do this.” Stark breathed. 

“Yes, I do.” she said, shrugging into a jacket, ignoring the burn of raw nerve endings and the way the empty sleeve hung at her side. “I’ve also compiled a list of HYDRA locations on the east coast; safe houses, caches, etc. Just give me 24 hours to gather what I need before you start sending the authorities in.” 

“What are you saying?” His eyes grew dark, frowning with concern. 

“I’m saying that the best way for me to keep my promise, to protect you - all of you - is to leave. I am still a danger to those around me, if not in and of myself, then through those who are looking for me. Disabling the trackers was of great help, as was taking out the first squad that came looking. But they were only the first of many. Cut one head off and all that rot. ” 

“Dum-E, would you tell Miss Carter she’s being difficult?” The robot peered at her, nodded up and down, then offered the arm back to her. 

Tony stood, and took her hand. “You might have noticed the name of our little team of superheroes, Miss Carter? Avenging is kind of what we do. Taking on the bad guys, protecting the innocent, so on and so forth. It’s something we’re pretty good at. So don’t worry about us. We want you here, Peggy. All of us, not just Steve. My trust issues, while not my most endearing quality, are nothing new and not your fault. Please stay, and let us help you.” She was surprised at the sincerity of his last sentence. 

He continued. “I’ll take care of that last device. Maybe if HYDRA thinks you’re dead, they’ll give up. Or maybe not - those assholes are kinda dumb that way. Do we have a deal?” There’s that Stark charm again, she thought. And she was so tired of being alone. 

“Very well, Tony.” 

\----  
A few days later, she found the common room to be empty after dinner. The innuendos had been flying thick and fast among Steve, Bucky and Tony all during the meal, so she assumed they had retired to their quarters for a bit of fun. Bruce was almost certainly in his lab, and she thought she’d heard Thor saying something about his Lady Jane being in town. Natasha and Clint had been out on a side mission, and got back just in time to fight over what would have otherwise been leftovers before their debriefing session. 

She decided to enjoy the solitude, browsing the bookshelves before selecting an old favorite. She settled into a corner of the oversized sofa and began to read, propping the book on one knee. She was still learning to make do with one hand; Tony was working on a new arm for her, but it wasn’t quite ready. She’d refused to put the metal arm back on, as it repulsed her to even consider it, now. 

“Mind if I watch a movie?” Clint had moseyed into the room, holding a bag of microwave popcorn. Part of her did mind a bit, as his taste in movies tended to run towards chase sequences, and lots of explosions, but this was the common area. If she wanted peace and quiet, she could return to her own suite. He perched on the back of the sofa down at the other end. 

She was a little surprised to see the opening credits for a Disney cartoon; but then again, Clint was a bit on the juvenile side. She remembered watching a few of Walt Disney’s films long ago, and had thought of him as a more artistic version of Howard Stark. It was nice to see that his legacy had been carried on. The movie itself appeared to be some sort of science fiction story; not her cup of tea, so she returned to her book. 

But her attention was drawn to one of the characters, a feral, fierce creature who was the creation of a mad scientist. She watched for parallels to the Frankenstein story, but it didn’t seem to be going quite that direction. Bruce joined them about ten minutes in, picking a spot in the middle, equidistant from the two of them. Natasha walked in a few moments later, drying her hair. The redhead draped herself across the back of the sofa, putting her feet in Clint’s lap for a massage. 

By now she’d given up on her book, as it couldn’t compete with the gorgeous renderings of the Hawaiian landscapes. She felt for the little girl on the story; she knew what it was like to be treated as if you were different, even at that age. But it was the experiment she really started to identify with, even though she didn’t approve of him using civilians as a shield to avoid being recaptured by his handler. The Winter Soldier hadn't had such scruples, but she did. 

Thor wandered in during the luau scene, asking why they did not hold feasts such as these in New York. Bruce explained about fire codes and smoke alarms, as the God of Thunder made himself comfortable on the floor in front of the sofa. On screen, the experiment’s handler was reflecting on his creation: “What must it be like to have nothing, not even memories to visit in the middle of the night?” She remembered her first few nights after the helicarrier battle, after Steve had somehow brought her back from oblivion. How she had clung desperately to those few, fractured memories, trying to discern their meaning. 

The experiment tried to fit in with his new friends, only to have his programming take over and ruin everything. She didn’t want to watch the movie anymore after that, and retreated back behind her book. She heard the little girl speaking to the experiment, giving him permission to leave, even though she would miss him terribly. She looked up to see the creature holding the Ugly Duckling book, repeating “I’m lost!” -- and found that tears were sliding down her cheeks. 

She excused herself for a moment - wanting nothing more than to retreat to her room. But she suspected someone would come after her, and she didn’t want to cause a scene. After drying her eyes in the kitchen, and getting a drink of water, she returned to find the remaining residents had joined them; she had underestimated Barton and his taste in movies. 

“We saved you a spot, Peg.” Apparently they were all in on this. Sighing, she ended up between Steve and Bucky, with Tony joining Thor on the floor, leaning back against their legs. She got settled just in time for a confrontation between the experiment and his handler. “I made you.... You are built to destroy. You can never belong. Now come quietly and we will take you apart.” 

Those words cut her to the bone, and all she wanted to do was run away, to escape. But she’d been outflanked, literally. Clint whispered in her ear - “Wait - keep watching... it will be okay. Promise.” and both Steve and Bucky leaned in close, offering her their strength. Natasha stroked her hair, humming the now-familiar tune. Even Tony reached up to pat her on the knee, and offer a wink. “We got this.” Thor and Bruce said nothing, but she was comforted by their presence as well. 

The movie got worse before it got better - wholesale destruction, kidnapping, child endangerment, a chase scene and explosions. But she learned a new word: ‘ohana. “‘Ohana means family, family means nobody gets left behind - or forgotten.” 

And in the final scene, the experiment.. no, he had a name... Stitch’s speech truly resonated with her. “This is my family. It is little and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.” She wasn’t sure if “little” applied in her case - especially if you counted Sam and Rhodey, Pepper and Jane, Maria and Lian. “Broken” - well, yes. Everyone around her had suffered loss and hardship, been asked to do more than they ever should have been; to be something they were not intended to be. But Natasha was right. Broken is not ruined. Broken can be repaired. It would take work and support, but she could believe now that it would be worth it in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to 27dragons for letting me spin this off from _A Winter's Cold_ \- many thanks to all who have posted kudos and comments! 
> 
> ... and part of me wants to believe that Phil Coulson and Cobra Bubbles crossed paths back at Roswell in 1973. :^D

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see what the other characters were doing/thinking/etc. check out [ A Slow Thaw - Take Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4951498?view_full_work=true)


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